Chapter Nine

"Return to the abbey," Alex ordered the priest, resting his hand upon his dirk. "Immediately. You will not say Mass tonight or in the morning." And, God willing, the man would stay in Inveriston.

"If that is your wish." Father Stephen bowed his head, but there was no humility or embarrassment in the man. He behaved as if there were no shame in what he'd done. Callum trailed the man, as if to ensure that he obeyed Alex's orders.

Once the man had reached the far side of the loch, Alex turned back to Laren. "Why was the priest holding your hand?" He kept his voice neutral, but he could see the flustered air upon Laren's face. She stared at a piece of glass as though it were the most important thing in the world.

"He wasn't holding my hand. He was just…offering to walk back with me."

"With his hand on yours." Although most priests were celibate, Alex wasn't such a fool as to believe all of them were. And he'd seen the man touching Laren with more than kindness in his eyes. And, priest or no, Alex would slay any man who dared to lay a hand on her. She was his wife.

He reached out and captured Laren by the waist. The scent of wood smoke clung to her, and a long lock of red hair rested over one shoulder. Alex leaned in, bringing her into his embrace. He held her, the softness of her hair resting against his mouth.

She pulled back to stare at him. "He brought me the plans for the commission and that was all. You've no reason to be jealous."

He didn't care that he was behaving like an overprotective husband. The need to reassert his claim, to remind her that she was his, took precedence over all else. "Haven't I?"

Though she slept beside him at night, for the past fortnight she'd remained on the opposite side with their daughters between them. What he wouldn't give for their own chamber, a place where he could remove the barriers of sleeping children and reach out to her again.

"The damned priest has touched you more than I have in these past few weeks."

She looked uncomfortable in his arms. "You've been busy with the rebuilding."

Aye, he had. He'd worked all day and deep into the night, determined to get the walls up as soon as possible. Though there had been no more attacks, he didn't believe they were safe. And if he had to work himself to the bone to finish their defenses, he'd do so.

"It will be finished soon," he swore, letting her go. "A few more days, at the most."

She nodded, but when she started to retreat back to the glassmaking, he reminded her, "Nairna arranged a feast to celebrate Oidhche nam Bannag. She'll expect you to be there."

His wife's face brightened with embarrassment. "I should have helped her with the preparations. I wasn't thinking about what day it was." She glanced back at the furnace, frustration lining her face. "Will you go and fetch Ramsay to come and watch the fires?"

"Aye. Then I'll return and wait for you." He wanted her to walk with him to the celebration as Lady of Glen Arrin, even if it was just an illusion. After Laren had been attacked, he'd been so focused on catching the intruder, he'd neglected her again. He saw her upon waking and when he drifted off to sleep at night, but that was all.

It was no way for a man to reconcile with his wife.

Snowflakes drifted on the wind, and after Alex left the cavern, he realized he didn't know where to look. Possibly in Walter's house or among the other boys. He supposed Ramsay could be anywhere.

But when he reached the outskirts of Glen Arrin, he spied the lad waiting. Ramsay shrank down, as if trying to make himself invisible. He huddled in the cold and Alex recognised one of his old tunics that Laren must have given to the boy. It hung down over his wrists and the saffron color was faded and worn.

Alex studied the boy's face, but thankfully, he didn't see any fresh bruises. He made himself a mental reminder to find out where Eoin was, since he hadn't seen Ramsay's father in a sennight. Though Walter had taken the boy into his home, it was a temporary solution. Ramsay deserved a permanent place to live where he would be warm at night with enough food to eat. Perhaps when the keep was finished, he and Laren could foster the boy themselves.

"Laren has asked you to come and tend the fires," he told the boy. "But if you'd rather attend the celebration tonight, we can—"

"I've no wish to go." Ramsay got up and started running toward the cavern, as if he couldn't stand to make any further conversation.

Alex followed the boy, and when he arrived back at the cave he saw Laren emerging. Her hood had slipped down to reveal her hair, and snowflakes melted against her cheeks. Ramsay was already inside the cavern, adding firewood to the furnaces.

Laren walked a short distance with him and when they were out of earshot, she reminded him, "I would never, ever betray you. Not with any man."

He drew her to his side. "It's not you I distrust. It's the priest."

She fell silent as they walked toward the fortress. In the distance, torches flickered amid the fortress construction. A large bonfire blazed in the center of the enclosure, and people were starting to gather around. Monroe pulled out his pipes and began to play a lively tune while some of the folk began to dance.

When they entered the space, Alex saw that Nairna had cut fir branches, tying them in different places around the fortress. Laren's pace slowed as she studied Nairna's greenery. "It reminds me of the way we used to decorate our home." With a furtive smile, she said, "My sisters and I used to collect fir branches and holly. We gave each other stones and sticks and pretended they were gold bracelets or beautiful gowns."

"Did you ever receive real gifts?"

She nodded. "Mother would try to make us something warm—a hood or hand coverings. Father would set snares for rabbits; if he was lucky, we had our own feast."

Alex led her inside the fortress and she looked around for the girls. "Where are the children?"

"Look there." He pointed to a small circle of young girls. Grizel was addressing them solemnly and placed the bannag stone in the lap of each girl as they took turns representing St Brigid, who first held the Christ Child. "My mother said the children will enjoy a celebration of their own. Dougal plans to tell them stories inside one of the huts."

Laren seemed content at this, and when they drew closer to the music, he remembered that they'd danced together a time or two. He took her hand and led her away from the others, just as Monroe changed the tune to a softer one. The pipes held a haunting note of wistfulness and his wife's face softened. She'd always loved music.

"Dance with me," Alex said, pulling her near. She hesitated, glancing around at all the people, but he took her hands and wound them around his neck. "There's no one here except you and me."

"There are nearly thirty people," she protested.

But he leaned in close, touching his nose to hers. "Don't look at them. They won't even notice us here." He lowered his hands to her hips, moving her in a slow circle.

Laren's breath faltered at the touch of her husband's hands. He was right. The rest of the clan seemed to melt away like frozen snow, until there was nothing left but him. His dark eyes reached inside her, reminding her of days long ago.

Against her hips, she felt his arousal, and his mouth moved down to hover above hers. He didn't kiss her, but warm breath mingled against her lips. "Do you remember the first night we celebrated Oidhche nam Bannag together?"

The snow had stopped falling and her body grew warmer as he wrapped his cloak around her, pressing her back against the stone wall. Though the colors had faded, she recognised the woven wool that she'd made for him, years ago. "You kissed me for the first time."

His palm came up to the side of her face, caressing her cheek. There was a sinful glint in his eyes, of a man who wanted to assert his claim upon her. The priest's words had conjured a jealousy she'd never seen before.

Beneath the cloak, his hands moved over her flesh, seeking bare skin while his mouth bent to hers. "You're mine, Laren," he said against her lips.

Before she could answer, Ross approached them. The man's face held a knowing grin and he told them, "There will be wagering games tonight. Nairna has asked each family to offer a prize."

"We will offer something," Alex answered. When he'd gone, he said to Laren, "What about a piece of your glass?"

"No." The answer came without any need to think. She wasn't ready to reveal the glass to the others.

"It wouldn't have to be a large piece. Perhaps some small colored pieces that you have left over."

"I'd rather we kept it a secret." Though she knew it had to be revealed sooner or later, she wasn't quite ready to show everyone else. It made her nervous to think of everyone staring and whispering about her.

"Why? You said you wanted to prove yourself to them. This would be your chance to show them what you've done." Alex let go of her and she walked alongside him towards Nairna. "Once we deliver the finished panels to the abbey, they'll have to know where they came from."

"Not yet," she said, increasing her pace. If she told them now, she was certain the people would come to watch her work. She didn't want curious eyes interfering with her concentration.

The further she moved away from Alex, the more the cold bit through her garments. She huddled with the edges of her mantle pulled around her. With no other place to go, she moved toward the crowd of people.

But to her misfortune, Nairna saw her. "I was hoping you'd come," she exclaimed, with a wide smile. "Now, we need a few more women. Vanora, you should join us."

"What do you need?" Laren wondered if there was more food to be distributed or something to do with the children.

Nairna wouldn't answer, but kept gathering women until she had twelve in a line. "Now, then." She turned back to the men. "Which of you thinks he's man enough for one of these women?"

Vanora's hand clamped over hers to keep Laren from fleeing. In her worst nightmares, she couldn't imagine why Nairna would do this to her. Everyone was watching and she wanted to die with all the eyes upon her.

A number of husbands stepped forward, thankfully, including Alex. Most men looked curious, rather than outraged.

"What is she doing?" Laren whispered to Vanora.

"Wait," the older woman said. "Watch and see."

When the men had come to stand before them, Nairna asked, "What gift will you give to a woman of your choice? Go and fetch it." While the men had gone, Nairna arranged for each of the women to be blindfolded.

Laren didn't like the sensation of being sightless in front of so many people. As each minute dragged on, she felt more and more uneasy about standing here. After a time, the darkness made her dizzy and lightheaded while she imagined everyone watching her.

But a moment later, her blindfold was removed. Laren blinked as her eyes adjusted, then she saw an array of small gifts within a basket.

Nairna walked to each of them, showing them the contents, then directed each of them to choose a gift for themselves. Laren saw them select dried flowers, a clay container, lengths of wool and even a barley cake coated in honey.

When the basket came to her, the only gift remaining was a flask containing a fermented liquid. Possibly mead, she guessed. But she knew from Alex's stiff expression that he had not given the gift.

Vanora opened her clay container and found it full of ashes and sand. "What sort of man would offer up such a terrible gift?" The matron shook her head in disgust. "A fool, I'd wager."

But Laren knew. Her husband had given it, for she was the only woman who would understand why. They were her tools, the ingredients needed for glass.

As Nairna bade each woman to try to choose the man who had offered the gift, there was teasing as the men denied or agreed that they had brought it. When Vanora's turn came, she held up the container of sand.

"Whoever gave this must have been a man who wanted to tease his wife. I'll guess that Ross gave it." With a smug grin, she added, "He never did like to spend his hard-won coins."

But Ross shook his head, grinning that she'd guessed wrong. "You should know me better than that, woman."

When it came Laren's turn, her hands were trembling as the eyes of the others stared at her. She held up the flask and said, "I believe Ross gave the mead."

Nairna turned a questioning look to the older man, who nodded in agreement. "My own wife doesn't know what's closest to my heart," he sighed. Then he puckered his lips to Laren, making kissing sounds while the others roared with laughter.

"Will you take his kiss and the mead, or another gift of your choice?" Nairna asked.

Laren shook her head, feeling the nervousness starting to take hold. "I'll take the container of sand. And the man who gave it."

The laughter of the crowd fell silent when Alex came forward. Though Vanora pressed the container in her hands and took the mead in exchange, Laren hardly noticed. She saw only her husband coming for her and, in his eyes, there was fierce desire.

He took her hand in his, leading her away from the others.

The wind was bitterly cold as they walked along the edge of the loch. Alex held Laren's waist, his cloak draped over both of them. Laren had grown quieter, but he hoped her tension would ease when they reached the cavern with the furnaces. One advantage was the intense heat when they were lit.

When they reached the entrance she stopped him. "Let me send Ramsay home. Wait while I speak with him."

He heard her quiet tone as she talked to the lad. Within a few minutes more, the boy left the cavern, his gaze still fixed upon the ground. His skin was flushed with heat—at least he would be warm enough until he reached Glen Arrin.

Alex caught the boy by the arm before he could go far. "I know you've been staying with Walter, these past few nights. Has he been treating you well?"

The boy gave a single nod, looking nervous at the question.

"And what of your father? Has Eoin bothered you since that night?"

Ramsay clutched his arms but shook his head. The boy's hollowed posture and broken spirit made Alex wish he'd known of the abuse long before this. The guilt weighed upon him, but he promised himself that nothing would happen to Laren's apprentice again.

"If it's your wish, you needn't return to your father's house. I'll see to it."

The boy stared at him as if he didn't know how to respond. Then, with a quick nod, he fled the cavern and started on the path toward Walter's.

"Thank you for looking after him," came Laren's voice. She sent him a quiet smile before she turned back to the fires, stoking them higher. He watched as she examined a clay container that held a melt. The color had started to shift from saffron to a pink tone.

"Not too much longer," she said, sliding it back into the furnace with an iron rod. "An hour, perhaps."

When she turned back to him, Alex spread his cloak upon the ground. Laren hesitated, her face flushed as she held her hands out before the furnace, warming them. He saw the way her gaze was intent upon the fire and wondered if it hadn't been such a good idea to bring her here. She seemed distracted by the glass.

When he came up behind her, she stiffened. "I didn't like what Nairna did tonight. Being in front of so many people…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes upon the floor. "I know she meant nothing by it, but I felt so awkward."

"You haven't been around the clan very often in the past fortnight."

She turned to him, discontent rising in her eyes. "I know it. But I have to stay with the glass, if I want to finish it for the kirk windows."

Alex said nothing, for it was her decision to leave them, seeking out her work to give her comfort. His mood shifted into one of frustration. By giving her the freedom to complete the commission, it seemed that she'd slipped even further away from him.

"How much longer will it take?" He moved to the far end of the cavern, near the pipes that were preheating.

"Months," she admitted. "Ramsay is learning to blow the glass, but he needs another year before his pieces will be good enough."

It meant another few months when he would hardly see her at all. He turned back and she was sitting at the stone table, arranging pieces of colored glass. "I don't like living this way," he admitted.

Her hands stilled and she raised questioning eyes to him.

"I don't like seeing you only at night. And when I do, you're already asleep."

She remained seated, watching him. "The work is exhausting."

He crossed back to stand before her. "I wanted to bring us back to the way things were, before David died. But that can't happen, can it?"

Her face grew pale, knowing what he meant. "What do you want from me, Alex?"

"I don't think it's something you can give." Her glassmaking required her to spend hours away from them. And it wasn't possible for him to see her throughout the day, not when she had to stay with the furnaces.

"I'm not giving up the glass." She stood up, facing him.

"I didn't demand that, did I?" He fought back the resentment, the frustration building up inside. "But what kind of a marriage is this, if we're always apart?"

She stared at him in distress. He felt as though he'd struck her down, but he didn't know how else to say it.

"What would you have me do?" she whispered.

"I don't know." He raked a hand through his hair and strode away. "There's nothing you can do, is there?"

She remained silent. For long moments, he heard nothing. Then her footsteps approached and he felt her hand upon his shoulder. When he turned to her, he saw that she'd unbound her hair. The long red strands held a slight wave to them from the earlier braid. Then she reached back and loosened her gown.

His mouth went dry when he saw her lower the sleeves and the bodice, baring her breasts. She lifted his hands to touch the warm weight of them and he understood. She was trying to offer herself to pacify him by giving him her body.

But the act was meaningless without her heart. He didn't want her like this. Lowering his hands, he faced her. "This won't fix what's broken between us."

A wrenching hurt filled up her blue eyes, but he didn't apologize. She fumbled with her gown, covering herself. "I can't seem to please you any more, can I?"

Alex stepped forward and picked up one of her glass pieces that lay on the table. It was a colorless scrap she'd discarded, the edges jagged and raw. He rubbed the hardened surface for a moment before he let it fall back.

"I don't know what happened to the marriage we had. You're not the same person you used to be."

"No. I'm not." She folded her arms across her waist, as if she could hold back the bruised feelings.

"From the moment we buried our son, you left me," he said. "You hid yourself away with your glass, and I had no wife at all."

A glimmer of anger tightened her features. "I wasn't the only one who hid myself away. When I came home at night, you weren't there. How many times did you eat with other families, coming home only when we were asleep? You spent more time with the clan members than your own family."

"I'm their chief. It was my responsibility." Didn't she understand that he hadn't known what he was doing? He'd spent time with the other families, trying to unravel the needs of the people.

"Was it?" she asked softly. "Or were you avoiding me?"

Her accusation was dangerously close to the truth. He hadn't known how to help her through the pain when he'd never handled it himself. It seemed easier to pretend nothing was wrong, to go on about their lives as usual.

"I'm not avoiding you now." He came close and stood before her.

She looked so vulnerable, so upset, he didn't know what to say. He'd brought her here, hoping to make things better. "Laren, what should we do?" he asked at last. A hollowness filled him up inside, for he couldn't find the right words.

"When we were younger, no one wanted us to be together," she said quietly. "You came at night, so my parents wouldn't know. And no one could keep us apart." She raised her eyes to his. "We loved each other too much."

He reached for her hand, remembering those days. Her palm rested in his and she touched his palm with her other hand. "I don't think you love me now, the way you did then."

"No," he admitted. "Both of us have changed." He kept his voice neutral, hiding the blunt pain he would never reveal to her. "It can't be the same as it was. But it can be stronger."

Her hands moved to rest over his heart. For a time, she thought about what he'd said. Then she answered, "Sunset."

He moved back, uncertain of what she meant. "Sunset?"

"When the sun goes down, we both come home. I'll leave Ramsay with my glass. And you'll leave your work. The stone can wait a few hours."

He cast a glance toward the furnace, wondering if she could keep that promise. Often, she'd forgotten the time when she was caught up in her glassmaking. Still, it was worth trying. "All right."

She laced his hands in hers, tilting her face upwards. "It's worth fighting for, Alex."

Glen Arrin—1298

Alex stared at his father's body as the men lowered it into the shallow grave. One by one, the men placed stones over Tavin and the brutal finality made him walk away.

The truth was, he didn't want the other men to see him weep. He wasn't a child, and his mother would only cuff him if she saw tears.

When he reached the hillside, he started to run hard. His lungs heaved, and his cheeks were wet, but at least there was no one to see. He didn't know where he was going, but he had to get away from everyone else.

Near the top of the hill, he saw a forest clearing and a circle of standing stones. Alex vaguely recalled seeing them once before, but the limestone blurred before his eyes. He sank to his knees, leaning against a stone as he wept. His father was dead, and two of his brothers were gone as well.

He'd tried to stop Bram from leaving, but his older brother had grabbed a sword and gone running toward the English soldiers. Callum had followed, while Alex had remained behind like a coward. If he'd gone, maybe they would still be here. But they had disappeared, like so many of the other men.

Alex pressed his forehead against the stone, his hands shaking. He barely heard the soft footsteps behind him but saw Laren standing there. Like a quiet spirit, she stepped closer, and her own tears were wet against her cheeks.

She spoke not a word, though he remembered that her own father had been numbered among the dead. Though he'd known who she was, it was the first time she'd ever approached him. Rarely did Laren speak to anyone, but she was one of the most beautiful girls in the clan. She seemed embarrassed by her family's poverty, though it didn't matter to him.

"Do you want me to leave?" she whispered.

Alex shook his head, resting his forehead against the stone. There were no words he wanted to speak right now, but he supposed she understood that. He'd loved his father and had wanted so badly for Tavin to be proud of him. The emptiness stretched out, filling him with regret.

Laren touched her hand upon his shoulder, offering a quiet comfort. He turned and locked his arms around her, both of them grieving. Though she was hardly more than a stranger to him, she held him in her embrace, and it felt right to have her there. The warmth of a human touch made it easier to endure the wrenching pain of loss.

After that day, there was an invisible bond that drew him to her. He'd sworn that when he came of age, Laren would be his wife—her and no one else.